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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179653">down the drain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyBennet/pseuds/MiladyBennet'>MiladyBennet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clemence Westley wool like to knit in peace [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Selection OC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Heavy Drinking, Practice Challenge, Too Many Words, Unconventional Family Dynamics, and for you reading this, i feel almost bad for her, whos gonna give up first, you or me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:14:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyBennet/pseuds/MiladyBennet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My poor attempt at the practice challenge.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clemence Westley wool like to knit in peace [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Did I fully fill any of the prompts? Probably not. But did I have fun with my trash? Yes, and we focus only on the positive here.<br/>Divided into chapters because... it felt like chapters. This one is not the first impression Clemence would like to give but I am the one in charge so she doesn't have a say.<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clemence Westley did not drink as much as she liked to pretend. Sure, she had a great cave, and she did allow herself two glasses of wine a week – every Sunday evening, to congratulate herself for surviving the last seven days and to convince herself that she could survive the next seven ones –, but she knew better than getting drunk.</p>
<p>Or so she thought.</p>
<p>For her defense, all the conditions had been reunited to encourage her inebriation. It had started when Cathrin, one her closest friends, had sent her a selection of wines and champagnes all the way from the German Federation, so she could taste them and pick which ones should be on the menu for Cathrin’s upcoming wedding. Then Victor, her stepfather, had announced he was leaving all weekend for some military mission she did not really care about. And finally, Tracie, her nince-year-old gremlin, was having a sleepover with friends. Clemence was guaranteed peace and quiet for over two days, and she had planned to enjoy it as much as she possibly could. She was going to knit, wine taste while facetiming with Cathrin, and binge watch <em>Why Women Kill.</em> Maybe she would even bring some guy over and engage in some bedroom activities, which she hadn’t done in a while (in too long, actually).</p>
<p>But His effing, freaking, fucking royal Highness Prince Arin Philippe Schreave had to ruin it all.</p>
<p>“A Selection. A fucking Selection! There hasn’t been a Selection in fifty years, and this dickhead chooses to have one <em>five months</em> after his break-up?! He’s disgusting!” Clemence was pacing in her kitchen, Cathrin’s blurry face watching her from the tablet she had set on the counter. One was holding a cup of coffee, the other a glass of wine.</p>
<p>“Maybe—“ Cathrin’s drowsy voice started, but Clemence was far from done with her rant. She had been containing her anger for hours – from the moment she had heard him make his announcement on national television. She had emptied one entire bottle of Cathrin’s expensive wine as she was waiting for her friend to wake up. Now that she could finally vent freely, she was not going to stop.</p>
<p>“Is it that hard to find rebounds in Angeles? Is he such a bad lover that he needs to bring thirty-five poor girls to his palace to get off?” His square jaw line and his perfectly slicked back hair came to her mind, and she thought that someone looking so stuck-up and conceited would unlikely make a satisfying lover. “He’s just using women for his own benefit, what a fuckwit!” She made a disgusted face and took a sip of wine, and Cathrin used that opportunity to speak up.</p>
<p>“Surely you know that there must be political stakes behind such a sudden decision?”</p>
<p>Cathrin was not necessarily the wisest of the pair, but right now she certainly sounded so, even barely awake. Clemence simply shrugged, ready to ignore anything that resembled logic. “Nothing that could make him have a Selection so soon! He’s just so despaired to move on from his ex quickly, and didn’t find anything better than that!” Clemence frowned in discontent at her own mention of Felicity Graham. “And what about his ex?” She made a wide gesture, spilling her wine on the tiles. “He’s doing that right under her nose, doesn’t he have any compassion? Doesn’t he think a little about the consequences of his actions on other people? And I can’t believe he’ll be my king one day!”</p>
<p>Clemence didn’t notice, but Cathrin sighed, already giving up on reasoning her friend. The only thing she could do was let her rant until she passed out from all the alcohol present in her bloodstream.</p>
<p>“He really thinks that he is going to find the love of his life that way? He almost married after a four year long relationship, and he thinks he can find a wife five months later? And he won’t even be able to back away this time! Whoever he picks will have to marry him!” Grabbing the second bottle – 2075 Chateau Latour, Clemence’s new favorite –, she went to sit on one of the stools. She had reached a point where glasses were no longer necessary. “But maybe he’s not even looking for the love of his life! Maybe he just wants some poor substitute to Felicity, one who will look nice in a crown and will give him heirs!” She searched for a synonym for disgusting – she didn’t like reusing the same words, even when she was drunk –, but found none, so she went for another insult. “Stupid misogynistic selfish bastard,” she mumbled before taking yet another sip. “He’ll just hurt even more people with his bullshit.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re not projecting your own love life onto his?” Cathrin countered, just to tease her a little.</p>
<p>Clemence shot Cathrin a dirty look, suddenly considering ending the call. She needed someone to vent to, not a scolding. “This has nothing to do with Franz.”</p>
<p>Cathrin raised an amused eyebrow. “Oh, really? Nothing to do with Franz? That guy who became crazy about you from the moment he met you, that you started dating just a few months after Rupert cheated on you?” Clemence groaned, and took another sip of wine so she did not have to reply. She did not like thinking about Franz, especially when she was drunk. It always made her cry and wish she never existed. “You know,” Cathrin went on, “the guy who proposed to you and made you run back to Illéa the minute afterwards?”</p>
<p>Clemence had always known giving in to Franz was a bad idea. That she would never be able to return his feelings and love him the way he deserved. She just had felt so heartbroken and lonely after the Rupert shitshow that a nice and sweet man who would have given her the moon had she asked seemed like a safe, comforting option. She thought deeper feelings would come later, when she healed from Rupert. When he kneeled in front of her with a sparkling ring, she realized it would never happen.</p>
<p>However, she would maintain until her last breath that this was not what brought her back to Illéa.</p>
<p>“I can see… similarities in both situations. Which means I already know how much he is going to fuck this up.” She nodded, proud to have found something clever to say. She quickly wiped the few tears that had appeared at the mention of Franz, satisfied and confident that she sounded barely drunk.</p>
<p>Cathrin, who had seen her hiccup and stutter three times before finishing her sentence, sipped her coffee, wishing it was tea as hot as their conversation. She secretly wished she would see drunk Clem more often, it was certainly entertaining. “Why do you care anyway? The girls who are going to do this are probably as aware as you are that he’s not over Felicity Graham. Some will probably even use that as an advantage.” Not all of them would be looking for love after all. Cathrin stayed away from life at court since Clemence had left Berlin, but she had seen her fair share of remorseless women seeking power at all cost. She tried not to think of Clemence’s own mother, but she did anyway.</p>
<p>Clemence got up, suddenly all worked up again. Cathrin had forgotten how quickly her emotions shifted when she was drunk. “I can’t let these girls get heartbroken! It won’t happen, not on my watch!” The single thought of him doing to thirty-five women what she did to Franz crushed her. “The asshole won’t have them!” She said a little too loud, on the verge of tears – angry tears.</p>
<p>“And what’s your plan?” Cathrin asked, genuinely curious to see what she could come up with after so much wine, even though Clemence’s ideas were generally quite unusual, even when she was sober. “Raiding the palace and stop the Selection by force? Offering yourself as a sacrifice?”</p>
<p>Clemence’s face lit up at her last words, and Cathrin knew she had said the wrong thing. Her friend disappeared an instant, and came back with a thick envelope.</p>
<p>“You are going to apply,” Cathrin said flatly, trying not to facepalm. What had she done? Couldn’t they go back to the part where she detailed her hatred for the man?</p>
<p>Clemence ripped the envelope open and discarded the letter announcing her that she was eligible to fuck the prince legally, focusing instead on the actual application. The questions were quite basic, she could answer without worry. She looked around for a pen, and only found a purple one. Oh well, who cared? Certainly not her.</p>
<p>“I am going to save them all,” Clemence stated with a slurred voice as she filled the first line with a surprisingly neat handwriting. Years of fancy boarding schools had some lasting effects it seemed.</p>
<p>“What do you mean? You’ll marry him so they don’t have to?” Cathrin decided she could have some fun instead of trying to control Clemence. She was just filling the application, not sending it. “You spent the last thirty minutes insulting him and you would marry him?”</p>
<p>Clemence nodded, writing down her caste. “Yeah, so no one is hurt. I’ll let him sleep with Felicity if he wants, I won’t let him touch me anyway.” She made a face, feeling nauseous at that thought. Or maybe it was the alcohol, she couldn’t tell. “How old am I?”</p>
<p>“22.” Cathrin watched her write it down and add what she suspected to be her zodiac sign. “You’d both be unhappy in that marriage, Clem.”</p>
<p>“As we deserve.” The Franz-related guilt was still lingering somewhere in her mind, then, even if everything had occurred over two years before and Franz had moved on with someone else. “We’ll even hate each other.”</p>
<p>“How will you convince him to marry you instead of the other girls, then?”</p>
<p>Clemence paused, looked up at the tablet, gulped. Her horror-stricken face somehow made her look like an innocent child, which made this situation ever more comical. “I’ll… seduce him.” She immediately went for the wine and took a big sip, miraculously not spilling anything on her application.</p>
<p>“And once you are married, it’s a big no-no for the wedding night?”</p>
<p>“For all the nights.” Clemence nodded and went back to her application. Thoughts of Arin and bedrooms were already far far away, as she was trying very hard to fill her application correctly. “How tall am I?”</p>
<p>“170 centimeters. Whatever that is in your weird system. By the way, you would literally scam him.”</p>
<p>Clemence giggled happily. “That’d be some revenge.” The prick deserved it.</p>
<p>She very proudly wrote that she was fluent in German (“Ja, ja, ich spreche Deutsch”) and that she had obtained a certificate in early learning and child care. As a Two and with her personal experience, it was perfectly useless to have, but studying had kept her busy the year before, after her third knee surgery had made her unable to move from her bed for a while. God bless distance learning.</p>
<p>They had both stopped talking, finding solace in the weird togetherness technology provided them. Cathrin finished her breakfast and started getting ready for her day, slowly setting in a more serious, professional mood. Her career path had quickly made understand that lobbyists did not have free Saturdays, even when they had liberal opinions and worked for an environmental firm.</p>
<p>“Clem, I have to go now. Are you done?” Cathrin was surprised her friend had not already moved on to something else or fallen asleep. But considering she had gotten drunk in the first place because of the Selection announcement, perhaps she should have expected it. Alcohol made her even more determined and stubborn than usual.</p>
<p>Clemence frowned, biting on her pen. She had to find the special skills she possessed, but so far had only come up “being lit” – which she was, of course. “What are my special skills?”</p>
<p>Cathrin was trying to put on stilettos while holding her phone, and the shaky image it sent to Clemence made her nauseous again. Even she did not know how long she would hold on. Maybe she would end up barfing on her application. Well, she thought, the royal jerk certainly deserved receiving that. She giggled again, imagining his horrified face.</p>
<p>“Knitting? Crochet? What does special skill even mean?” Cathrin grabbed her brand new Chanel bag. “You can still talk about your two Olympic medals. Oh, and say that you can handle being in a room full of kids and even enjoy it. And calm any tantrum. <em>That</em> is probably your most special skill.” Cathrin personally hated children and was glad she had found someone who shared the same feeling. She would be just fine being the German aunt to Clemence’s ten adopted children. “I really need to go now. You’ll be fine on your own?” She realized that Clemence looked a little pale, even with the camera lens filtering the colors. “Clem?”</p>
<p>Her friend said nothing and simply ran away, to what Cathrin suspected to be the restroom. She shook her head and sighed as she saw the bottle of wine fall on floor, the breaking glass creating a piercing sound through the phone. Hundreds of <em>Deutsche Mark</em> wasted in a solo drunken party.</p>
<p>Cathrin hang up, promising herself that she would call Clemence again once she would be sober and feeling better. And hopefully no longer determinded to ruin Prince Arin's life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise we won't see her drunk again (in this fic at least haha). I can't promise she'll be nice to Arin in the next chapter though...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clemence spent the entire Saturday sleeping off the wine and cursing against Arin Schreave. She would not have felt the imperial need to drink and drown in her guilt and anger if he had not decided to have a Selection. Everything was his fault. Arrogant brat.</p><p>She did not really remember what had happened after she had finished filling the application. She could not find it anymore, so she assumed that she had thrown it away or, if she was clever, burned it in the fireplace. She knew she had tried to clean her mess in the kitchen with ketchup, though. She did not look forward to cleaning that.</p><p>She had contacted Cathrin once, to tell her she had not died from ethylic coma, but had not checked if she had received an answer. She did not really want to be reminded of everything she had said and especially done because of Arin Schreave. She could not believe the man had even triggered her savior complex.</p><p>Now that she could think normally again, Clemence had decided that the future selected did not need her to save them. They were going to do this on their own free will, they would face the consequences. Clemence had learned the hard way that you could not help everyone, especially those who did not want it. Women crazy enough to jump in the arms of a man who still thought of another could <em>not</em> want to be helped.</p><p>In spite of what she was trying to convince herself to think, she could not help but feel like no one deserved to fall in love – maybe for the first time – under such circumstances. Prince Arin would probably never love his future queen as much as he had loved Felicity. If he was lucky, he would feel some form of attachment or tenderness, but she could not see how it could end in a happily ever after, for any party involved. She could not fathom how he concluded that breaking hearts, when he himself was heartbroken, was the way to go. Unless he thought he deserved to be unhappy for the rest of his days, but it seemed unfair for his future partner who was probably seeking marital bliss.</p><p>To be honest, she had not expected Illéa to have a Selection ever again. Even her fifteen-year-old self who had a little crush on him had not considered she would one day have the opportunity to compete for his heart in a Selection. His relationship with Felicity had settled things. They made so much sense as a couple that most had been surprised they had not started dating earlier.</p><p>Things did not make much sense anymore now.</p>
<hr/><p>Clemence knocked on Mrs Shatterly’s door absent-mindedly, distracted by her friends’ conversation on their group chat. Cathrin had shamelessly disclosed everything that had happened on Friday evening, and they had not dropped the subject since then, making memes after memes of her marrying Arin and pet-naming him “His royal Dickhead”.</p><p>She would not mind that much if Franz did not happen to be in the same group chat. They had agreed to remain friends when they had broken up, but things had never returned to what they were before their relationship. She would have clearly preferred to sever ties with him like she had with Rupert; but she had thought she had already done too much damage and that dismantling their group over her mistakes was not worth it.</p><p>Her stomach churned as she saw him send laughing emojis in reaction to Romy’s joke about how Clemence would probably run away again if Arin ever proposed to her. She knew he had moved on and was now in a real loving relationship with some man named Peter – he had even mentioned a few weeks before that they had started talking about getting engaged (at least he was not proposing after two months of dating this time, she thought despite herself). However, guilt and shame would never really leave her. She had learned to live with it – or rather ignore it –, but she had noticed how she avoided their group chat more and more so she could forget about his existence for a few days.</p><p>The door opening on Mrs Shatterly’s grin interrupted her train of thoughts.</p><p>“Clemence!” she said warmly. “Come in, we were all waiting for you!”</p><p>Clemence somehow managed to keep herself from raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was not used to such an enthusiastic attitude from Mrs Shatterly, who usually barely made an effort to be polite with her. Like many other mothers in the neighborhood, she looked rather unfavorably on Clemence’s parenting role in Tracie’s life.</p><p class="western">
  <em> Not my fault if my mother decided to raise someone else’s child on another continent. </em>
</p><p class="western">She tucked her phone in the back pocket of her black jeans. “Sorry, I can’t stay. I just came to pick up Trace—”</p><p class="western">“Nonsense! You can take five minutes for a coffee!”</p><p class="western">“I don’t drink—” Mrs Shatterly grabbed her arm before she had time to finish and took her inside. Clemence preferred to comply. It was hard enough for Tracie to make friends, she would not make it harder by setting Mrs Shatterly against them both. Who knew how hard she could make their lives. (She was president of the parents’ association at the school of their district. Rumor had it that she was responsible of the dismissing of the previous director, with whom she did not get along.)</p><p class="western">Clemence took a quick glance at the family portraits in the hallway as Mrs Shatterly brought her to her lavish kitchen made of Italian marble. She did not know if the blinding smiles were genuine, yet she still envied the perfect image they gave off. Her own family was a shattered mess scattered across the world.</p><p class="western">From the kitchen, she could see the girls playing in the living-room. Tracie immediately spotted her. “Clem!” she cried out, relief shining in her eyes. Her curly hair had been straightened, styled in a high ponytail, and the plaster cast on her arm was covered in flowers and pink unicorns. Clemence grimaced in sympathy and discreetly pointed Mrs Shatterly with her thumb. Tracie’s shoulders sagged and Clemence turned around to face Mrs Shatterly, hiding her amused smile. This was surely the last time Tracie would ever accept an invitation to a sleepover. Girly things were equivalent to torture for her.</p><p class="western">Mrs Shatterly proposed her a cookie, and Clemence accepted purely out of politeness. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. She wondered how she was going to refuse the coffee without offending her.</p><p class="western">“Did the girls have fun this weekend?”</p><p class="western">Mrs Shatterly nodded while chewing on her cookie. Clemence was secretly surprised that all this botox still made her able to chew solid food. Shouldn’t her face be too paralyzed for that now? “They really did! The Selection announcement made them ec-sta-tic, they talked about it all weekend!”</p><p class="western">Poor Tracie, she must have suffered so much. And poor Clemence, too. She absolutely did not want to hear about the Selection or Arin Schreave.</p><p class="western">Mrs Shatterly laid a hand on Clemence’s arm, a hungry gleam in her eyes. “They would really like to know… Are you going to apply?”</p><p class="western"><em>They</em> would, huh?</p><p class="western">“You’re the only woman eligible they know, they would really like to be able to support you!”</p><p class="western">Was this neighborhood really only made up of young children and stay-at-home mothers for Clemence to be the only twenty-something around?</p><p class="western">As much as she wanted to tell this woman to go fuck herself and her misplaced curiosity, Clemence opted for the diplomatic answer. “I do not know yet whether I will apply. This is a big decision to make, as you can imagine.” She sounded colder than she had intended.</p><p class="western">Mrs Shatterly tilted her head and frowned ever so slightly – probably as much as she possibly could. “But this is the opportunity of a lifetime, Clemence. You can’t miss it.”</p><p class="western">Clemence had had her fair share of lifetime opportunities. She did not feel the need to seize another one. Especially not this one.</p><p class="western">“I can, and probably will.” She smirked. “The odds are not in my favor.”</p><p class="western">Mrs Shatterly did not understand the reference and pushed further. “Athletes are competitors at heart, retired or not. I know you would love to win. As much as you would love to be queen, I’m sure. You’re such a humanitarian, volunteering for all these charities. You could help on a much grander scale!”</p><p class="western">Clemence straightened and cleared her throat. “Thank you for the cookie. But Tracie and I should go now. I wouldn’t want to be a disturbance.” She would not stay one more minute with that woman who had become all flattering when she had always openly disapproved of Clemence’s activities just because she wanted to be able to tell the press she knew a Selected and had even encouraged her to apply.</p><p class="western">Tracie had apparently been following the conservation, because Clemence heard her say goodbye to her friends and rush to the kitchen, her vest already on.</p><p class="western">“Goodbye, Mrs Shatterly!” She said hastily, swinging on her feet. “You were really nice!”</p><p class="western">“Yes, you were.” Clemence gave her her best hypocritical smile. “Thank you for everything. We’ll see you at school!”</p><p class="western">Tracie and Clemence left without letting her time to answer, waving quickly and going for the door. The latter was not even fully closed when Tracie took off the purple scrunchie and sparkly barrettes out of her hair and tried to massage her scalp with her cast.</p><p class="western">“I think you were more polite than me, this time,” Clemence joked. Just being outside of this terrible house and its toxic atmosphere made her feel lighter already. She took a deep breath, looking up at the sky. The sun had started to set, but the temperature had not dropped yet. It was still a little fresh for early May though, which was to be expected; it was still snowing just a few weeks ago.</p><p class="western">“Yeah, I know,” Tracie grinned back. “I just wanted to leave so bad.”</p><p class="western">“Well, me too.” Clemence wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders and brought her closer to her. Tracie pretended to fight back for an instant but eventually let her have it her way. “Was it that bad?”</p><p class="western">“She was so <em>awful</em>. She said bad stuff about you all weekend. Like how you shouldn’t let me play hockey and all. She’s a bitch.”</p><p class="western">“What did I say about this kind of words?” Clemence immediately replied, even though she agreed wholeheartedly.</p><p class="western">“Fine.” She couldn’t see it but she knew Tracie was rolling her eyes. “She is a female dog.”</p><p class="western">Clemence chuckled and released her. “You should seriously stop, you’ll get in trouble one day.”</p><p class="western">Tracie turned her head towards her and stuck her tongue out at her. “I know.”</p><p class="western">The walk back home ended up being quite funny, Tracie and Clemence falling into their usual banter. Tracie told her about all the things the Shatterly mother and daughter forced her to go through, from Disney princess movie marathons to manicures and trips to Claire's.</p><p class="western">“And they were so obsessed with that Selection, it was so bad. They find him pretty. Do you think he’s pretty? They also said that their wedding would look like his wedding. Ugh.” Tracie gestured (they both tended to speak with their hands), her arms opening wide to express the size of her disgust. “Like, who even cares?”</p><p class="western">“The whole country apparently.” And her German friends. Her phone had kept on buzzing against her butt; she did not even want to know how many unread messages about her and Arin it had reached.</p><p class="western">“You won’t do it, right? The Selection.” Tracie was trying to sound unaffected, but Clemence could hear the underlying worry.</p><p class="western">“You’re kidding me? He looks like he has a stick up his butt.”</p><p class="western">Tracie chuckled. “He does.”</p>
<hr/><p class="western">Clemence had almost always had some kind of routine in her life, an internal pre-planned schedule for every activity of the day. She had found out that such organization skills were as useful for athletes as they were for anyone in charge of a child.</p><p class="western">Victor was currently messing with that routine.</p><p class="western">He had come back late the previous night, Tracie already sleeping. He had therefore decided to catch up with her over breakfast. When they were already running late.</p><p class="western">Because the truth about her routine was that she never managed to keep up with it, no matter how hard she tried. She was always running late somewhere, and on this Monday morning, it seemed it would be school.</p><p class="western">“Did you find rebels?” Tracie asked him excitedly, her bacon and her eggs completely forgotten. She was looking at him with this admiration children always had for their parents until they found out their job was not as cool as it seemed.</p><p class="western">“Nah, it was just boot camp. We welcomed the new recruits. They’re gonna be the ones looking for the rebels.” Victor poked at her nose with a proud smile. He never made a secret of his hope for his daughter to pursue the same career as him, continuing the Beauchamp tradition of joining the military.</p><p class="western">“Did you yell at them?”</p><p class="western">He laughed. “Can’t you hear it my voice?” Indeed, he was talking hoarsely. Clemence did not dare imagine what the new recruits had been through. Marine training was known to be the most physically and emotionally demanding. And Colonel Victor Beauchamp was not known for his leniency – in the military, at least. He was too high-ranked to handle the training directly, but he liked to do it once in a while. He said that playing the drill instructor was more efficient than therapy.</p><p class="western">Clemence placed sandwiches in Tracie’s lunchbox, and checked on her tomato soup. She had awoken before dawn to prepare it but she was seriously questioning if it would be ready on time. She was supposed to have made it last night. Another proof of her incapability to stick to her schedule. She would do something about that one day. Next year, she promised herself. The school year was close to an end anyway.</p><p class="western">“Victor, let her eat. She needs to brush her teeth afterwards and we’re already gonna be late.”</p><p class="western">They both pouted at her, but she had none of it. In this house, she was the one giving the orders.</p><p class="western">Victor ran his hair through his buzzed hair, looking thoughtful. “I can help you with stuff if you want. I have the day off.”</p><p class="western">Tracie shrieked. “You do?! Really?! Will you see me at my hockey practice this afternoon? It’s at 3:30!” So far, she had never managed to have her father attend one of her matches, let alone a practice session.</p><p class="western">“Depends if you’re good at it, kiddo.” He smirked, and Clemence rolled her eyes, adding a juice box to the lunch bag.</p><p class="western">“I’m great,” Tracie replied confidently, and perhaps a little arrogantly. “I could be pro one day.”</p><p class="western">“Sure, sure.”</p><p class="western">“Papa!”</p><p class="western">Victor laughed loudly as Tracie openly expressed her offense. “I meant it, when I said I could help, by the way,” he told his stepdaughter warmly, watching her pour her half ready tomato soup in a thermos. She was pretty sure Tracie would not eat it anyway.</p><p class="western">“You’d help? Really?” She was wary. The man had been taught to survive in any environment except a house, and he proved it to her time and time again.</p><p class="western">“I’m a forty-two-year-old man, I can do basic housework and run errands. I used to do it until you moved back here and decided to be in charge.” He also used to have a housemaid <em>and</em> a nanny until she moved back to Illéa.</p><p class="western">She shoved Tracie out of the kitchen, warning her she had three minutes to be ready. “Fine. Can you go the post office? I have stuff to send, including the tax return.” Driving should not be too hard for him, right? And she had to admit it would save her a lot of time not to have to do it herself. She had to be at the Children's Village community center in thirty minutes.</p><p class="western">She was focused on Tracie’s lunchbox so she did not catch him rolling his eyes, but still heard him get up and go to the office, where she always left the mail and administrative documents.</p><p class="western">“The whole stash?” He cried from there.</p><p class="western">“Yes!’</p><p class="western">“Sure?” His voice sounded strange, but she assumed it was due to overuse. She would buy honey for him, if she ever found the time today.</p><p class="western">“Yes, Victor.” She repeated wearily.</p><p class="western">And then she took a look at the clock and all hell broke loose. She screamed for Tracie to come back downstairs, searched for her school bag, found it, ran back to the kitchen to grab the lunchbox, screamed again, searched for the car keys, found them, ran outside, Tracie tagging along with unlaced shoes. The house became quiet as quickly as it had turned loud in the first place.</p><p class="western">In their haste, none of the girls had noticed Victor in the hallway, nor the letter headed to the royal palace he was holding in his hand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Clemence knew that Victor could get very taciturn at times, yet she somehow had a gut feeling that this time, it was different. He had barely uttered a word in the last couple of days, even to Tracie, who was usually the only one who managed to get him out of his obstinate silence and make him smile a little. Clemence’s mother used to hate that, and for once, Clemence understood why.</p><p class="western">They were both seated at each end of the couch, watching the Illéan remake of the series <em>Army Wives</em>. They liked to make fun of the show and its dramatization of life in an army base, as they used to live in military housing until Clemence’s mother demanded to move to an actual town a year before their divorce. However, all of Clemence’s snarky remarks were falling flat on that Thursday evening. At best, she was getting a groan in acknowledgement. It was disturbing enough for her to constantly have to frog the rows of the blanket she was knitting.</p><p class="western">She lost it when, struggling to count her stitches, she heard him sigh for no other possible reason than whatever was going on in his mind. She dropped her needles, and snapped her head in his direction. “Can you please tell me what is wrong with you?” She crossed her arms, knowing she would get nothing out of him without a fight.</p><p class="western">He gave her a quick side-eye before looking back at the screen, even though they were in the middle of a commercial break. “Nothing.”</p><p class="western">She noticed his squirming and squinted her eyes. “Cut the crap, Victor. There’s something going on and you have no new recruit to unwind on to get it out of your system, so you better tell me.”</p><p class="western">She could see that he did not like receiving such orders from her. He usually complied when it came to housework and other stuff, because he knew she was more capable to keep the house afloat than he was, but this time it might be too personal for him to listen to her. She wondered if he would dare use his colonel persona. After all, he used to play the drill instructor with her when she was younger and not willing to listen to him.</p><p class="western">“There’s nothing, Clems,” he repeated a bit harshly, still avoiding her gaze.</p><p class="western">“Will I have to bring Chuckesmee to get answers?”</p><p class="western">Victor absolutely despised that doll. It was his brother, Alex, who had found it in some cabinet of curiosities and offered it to his niece for Christmas, knowing her love for ugly and creepy things. Victor refused to step into Tracie's room if that thing was not out of his sight.</p><p class="western">“You’re not playing fair,” he groaned. <em>Progress, finally</em>.</p><p class="western">“You’re forcing me to.”</p><p class="western">He sighed, looked everywhere else in the room except at her, chewing on his already chipped lips. Clemence picked up her needles and resumed her knitting. She knew it was only a matter of time now. She should have brought up Chuckesmee immediately, she had forgotten how useful they could be (Tracie had declared that Chuckesmee was non-binary and used they/them pronouns).</p><p class="western">“I know…” He started, then gulped, before starting again. “I know that I am not your father.” Clemence frowned. Where was that coming from? He had been raising her since she was three years old, he was more of a father to her than her biological one had ever been and he knew that as well as she did. “And I know that you are an adult and you make your decisions on your own now,” he went on, “but I guess… I guess I would’ve liked you to tell me about your decision to apply for the Selection.” He shrugged, but his uneasiness was obvious. Talking about his feelings was not something he particularly enjoyed. “I didn’t want to talk about it because I was hoping you’d make the first step.”</p><p class="western">Clemence almost stabbed her own hand with one of her needles.</p><p class="western">“Excuse me… but what?” She stared at her stepfather in pure shock, her mind too blank to form any proper thought.</p><p class="western">He frowned, as confused as she was. “What wasn’t clear in my explanation?”</p><p class="western">“Where did you get the idea I was applying for the Selection?” She had never hidden what she thought about the royal family’s absolute power and their liberticidal laws from him, even if his undying loyalty for the monarchy forced him to disagree with her. Added to her total lack of attraction to Arin Schreave – which Victor also knew of, since he liked to tease her about her old crush on him –, in what world would she even seriously consider applying? The only time it had seemed like a good idea, she was drunk as fuck.</p><p class="western">“You told me to send the application just three days ago,” Victor’s frown deepened, emphasizing the fine lines on his forehead. “Remember, when you and Trace were running late for school?” He said, his tone clearly showing his worry. She was so busy she often forgot the little things, but a Selection application seemed a little too important for that.</p><p class="western">“You mean… you mean that the application was in the stash of letters?” Clemence’s breathing quickened up, the same word replaying in her mind. <em>Impossible, impossible, impossible</em>.</p><p class="western">“Yeah, it was on top of the pile, there was even a post-it that said ‘urgent’.”</p><p class="western">That was why he had asked if he had to post everything. And that was where her inebriated self had left it. <em>The office.</em> Why hadn’t she checked the office? She should know by now that she remained very inventive even with a high percentage of alcohol in her bloodstream. Of course she would think of putting it with the rest of the mail.</p><p class="western">She sank her face into her hands, trying and failing to rationalize the new situation she was in. “So you sent it?” She mumbled inside her hands.</p><p class="western">“I asked for confirmation twice.” Right. He had. “I don’t understand. How didn’t you know…?” He stopped, realization hitting him. “Is this one of Tracie’s pranks?”</p><p class="western">If there was one person who wanted Clemence not to be in the Selection even more than Clemence herself, it was without a doubt Tracie.</p><p class="western">She leant her head against the back of the couch. “No, Tracie didn’t do anything.” She watched the television screen, where Brandon, one of the protagonists, had just been put to jail for beating up another guy, and was now waiting for his best friend Collin to pay bail. She identified with the character like she never had before. “That was me.”</p>
<hr/><p class="western">Clemence did not like using her privileges, or asking anything to her mother, but this time, she did not see how she could get out of this terrible mess without her help.</p><p class="western">If she accepted to help. Which would probably come at a certain price.</p><p class="western">She could also refuse to help and even push her application further. If she and her ambassador of a husband had enough connections to be able to remove her file from the pile, they could also make sure she was selected to represent Calgary.</p><p class="western">Clemence was playing a dangerous game, but she had no other choice.</p><p class="western">She had cancelled her Friday afternoon physical therapy session to make sure she would be alone at home, without Tracie and Victor to witness this. It was early morning in Berlin, yet Cassandra Stephens, as always, was as fresh as a daisy. She was however unable to conceal her surprise at her eldest daughter’s sudden call.</p><p class="western">“Clemence,” she said with a cautious voice. “I can’t say this was expected.”</p><p class="western">Of course. They had not talked to each other since New Year, except for a few emails to arrange Tracie’s annual visit in the summer.</p><p class="western">“I’m actually surprised you didn’t call first,” Clemence replied casually, ignoring the strong beating of her heart. She rubbed her hand against her chest in a useless attempt to calm it down. She could not fail. “I thought you wouldn’t resist the opportunity of having your daughter compete for a prince.”</p><p class="western">“Well, the last time I tried to talk my daughter into accepting the proposal of a prince, she ran to another continent, so excuse me if I have low expectations regarding her marital ambitions.”</p><p class="western">“You and your husband tried to threaten me into marrying Franz, I think that’s a little bit different.” She had trouble keeping the bitterness out of her voice. “And he was only third in line to the succession of the grand duchy of Luxembourg. So excuse me if I thought that an actual heir would be a much more interesting catch for an arriviste like you.”</p><p class="western">When she was a teenager, she had noticed that she was only ten months younger than Arin Schreave, and had wondered if her mother had conceived her for the sole purpose of sending her off to a Selection one day. She could not determine if this was better than being conceived so her mother could marry into a higher caste. At least in these two cases, she was somehow wanted. Being the collateral damage of careless nineteen-year-olds was far less charming.</p><p class="western">“Are you trying to tell me that you have applied to the Selection, Clemence?” The call had started less than two minutes ago, yet Cassandra already sounded ready to hang up and move on to something else.</p><p class="western">“I have.”</p><p class="western">“Oh.” Pause. “I can’t believe you finally came to your senses.” She sounded almost impressed, which was quite an exploit in itself. Clemence almost felt bad at the prospect of disappointing her mother once again. Almost.</p><p class="western">“Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t.”</p><p class="western">“What is that supposed to mean?” Cassandra snapped back.</p><p class="western">“Well,” Clemence started, stretching her legs to put her feet on the coffee table. <em>Here we go.</em> “I may or may not have filled and sent this application completely drunk… and high,” she added quickly, for the sole purpose of drama.</p><p class="western">The best lies always had some truth in them; it was one of the first things her mother had taught her.</p><p class="western">“You did <em>what</em>?” She could feel her mother trying to keep every ounce of her calm. She wanted not to enjoy it, but she did anyway.</p><p class="western">“I don’t remember everything, but I’m pretty sure I wrote that one of my special skills was the reverse-cowgirl position.”</p><p class="western">“Clemence Organa Westley!” She wondered if her mother had an assistant in the room that could do CPR. Cassandra would probably need it.</p><p class="western">“Oh, so you know about the reverse-cowgirl? I wasn’t sure you’d understand what I was referring to.” It was getting harder and harder to keep the smile from her voice. She may have been truly drunk on that night, but she did not go as far as writing down such things. Probably because Cathrin was there to tame her a little.</p><p class="western">Cassandra repeated her full name a second time. “Tell me this is a joke.”</p><p class="western">“I’m afraid not, mama.” She wished, though.</p><p class="western">“And you sound like you barely care!”</p><p class="western">Oh, she definitely did care. But she could not afford to show such weakness to her mother.</p><p class="western">“Maybe that’s what the prince is looking for. You never know.”</p><p class="western">Cassandra did not bother repeating her name a third time. “I’m calling your stepfather. He should be able to have this thing you dare call an application mysteriously gone by tonight. If anyone asks, you have never applied, am I clear?”</p><p class="western">“Yes, mama.”</p><p class="western">A wave of relief washed over Clemence, and she almost went as far as expressing gratefulness to her mother.</p><p class="western">“I can’t believe you cause me more problems than your sister.” It was because Tracie was only neglected. Clemence had been neglected <em>and</em> had not met her mother’s high expectations. “He’ll probably owe a lot of people because of you, I hope you are aware of that.”</p><p class="western">Yeah, but she did not like Hal, so she did not really care. He deserved it. If the scandalous application had been true, it would have caused more trouble to him than to her.</p><p class="western">“And I’ll owe you too, right?” She was not happy about this, but she preferred to owe her mother than end up in the Selection.</p><p class="western">Cassandra pretended to think about it, even though Clemence knew she had had something cooked up from the moment she had accepted to help her. “The Duke of Gloucester is invited to Cathrin’s wedding. You should… spend some time with him, when you come here this summer.”</p><p class="western">King George VII’s grandson? The current queen’s cousin? Her mother <em>really</em> wanted to set her up with a prince. The fear of a scandal must have been great for her to sacrifice Arin Schreave. Or maybe she knew that an heir to the throne was a bad idea for her liberal daughter.</p><p class="western">“The dude involved in environment protection?” She actually had already heard of him through Cathrin, with whom he often worked. “You can even set up a date if you want.”</p><p class="western">Her mother humphed. “You must deeply regret what you did to be so compliant.”</p><p class="western">
  <em> You have no idea. </em>
</p><p class="western">“I just thought that you and Hal would come back here if he ever lost his position because of me. Seeing you both once a year is more than enough, so…”</p><p class="western">“I’ll send you an email when it’s done,” Cassandra suddenly interrupted, before hanging up.</p><p class="western">Clemence grinned. She had truly outdid herself this time.</p>
<hr/><p class="western">In spite of the subject being on everyone’s lips, Clemence quickly forgot about the Selection. Her application would be nice story she would share during Cathrin’s bachelorette party, but now that she had made sure her latest mistake would not have consequences other than a date with a good-looking European prince and her mother’s endless disappointment, she did not see the point of even mentioning it. She even skipped all the articles of the Globe that talked about it. The least she knew, the better she felt.</p><p class="western">She spent the next week focusing on her work at the community center, juggling between caring for the youngest, tutoring the oldest, and budgeting for the trip they were trying to organize for late June. These children never had the opportunity to get out of Medicine Hat, and most likely never would. Two days at Bannf National Park was not in lot in the eyes of some, but Clemence knew that it mattered. The little things always did, especially with children.</p><p class="western">On Thursday, Stefanie, the volunteer manager, told her she could have her Friday morning off. She had a strange glint in her eyes, her smile was closer to a smirk and she kept making strange jokes about Prince Arin Clemence refused to understand. She accepted her offer though. She would have the actual free time she was supposed to get two weeks earlier. With no wine, of course.</p><p class="western">As always, things did not go as planned.</p><p class="western">Victor casually announced at dinner that night that his brother was on furlough and was expected to arrive the next day.</p><p class="western">“But the house is a mess.”</p><p class="western">Victor shrugged. “He lives on a ship. A house is luxury for him.”</p><p class="western">But Clemence refused to have a guest, even family, welcomed in her home in such conditions. She attributed a chore to everyone, until Tracie fell asleep on the kitchen floor using the mop as a pillow and Victor excused himself, reminding her he had to wake up at 3:30.</p><p class="western">She ended up staying awake all night, although it had little to do with cleaning. Around 3am, she got a call from the foster care services, to tell her they had an infant in need of an emergency home for a few days.</p><p class="western">And so, on top of everything, she was now in charge of the little Lila, a two months old abandoned by her mother.</p><p class="western">It was not the first time she was entrusted with abandoned infants, and if the unfairness of the caste system did not condemn them to become Eights, it would not even be the worst thing she had witnessed since she had become part of the foster care services.</p><p class="western">She hoped Lila’s mother would change her mind, but if it did not happen, all she could wish for this child was to be adopted by a good family. Meanwhile, she would give her all the love and the attention she needed.</p><p class="western">However, she had not had such a young child in her care since Tracie and she was out of certain supplies, so after her sister’s hockey practice ended, and while the rest of the country was getting prepared for one of the most important Reports of the year, she went to Target.</p><p class="western">She found it particularly empty for a Friday evening, but did not question it more than that. She had not slept in thirty-six hours, only surviving thanks to the most dreadful beverage ever created (coffee), her left knee, that hadn’t been to physical therapy in two weeks, was begging for some ice and respite, and she still had so many things to do until Alex and Victor came back from the airport that she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. If anything, the Target’s emptiness was a blessing from God.</p><p class="western">Tracie disappeared as soon as they entered the store, probably going to see the electronics. Clemence already knew she would have to tell her that <em>no, they couldn’t buy a drone she</em> <em>could upgrade herself</em>.</p><p class="western">Grocery shopping went much faster when she did not have to force Tracie to have her hand glued to the shopping cart. She got most of what she needed in record time, Lila tucked in her wrap, peacefully asleep.</p><p class="western">Her brain however died by the time she reached the baby’s department. She stared at boxes of powdered milk, fighting the urge to close her eyes. Yet it was so tempting… she could rest her eyes for five minutes, right? It was so calm, it would not be calm at home. She should seize the opportunity…</p><p class="western">“Tired mommy?”</p><p class="western">Clemence blinked suddenly, turning her head as much as her sore neck allowed her to, and met the kind face of a middle-aged woman. She thought of what she looked like – exhausted, dishevelled, and carrying a baby in a wrap that was not properly tied. “Yeah… sort of.”</p><p class="western">The woman smiled. “Are you looking for something in particular?”</p><p class="western">“I need a hydrolysed formula of milk. She’s allergic to cow’s milk.”</p><p class="western">The woman laughed and immediately gave her a box, telling her about her twins who were intolerant to lactose since they were born. Usually, Clemence would have listened in depth and been actively part of the conversation, despite the outstanding number of private details the woman was disclosing, but she barely had the strength to nod once in a while. The woman did not seem to mind her terrible lack of manners; she probably simply needed someone to talk to.</p><p class="western">However, it would be a lie to say that she did not feel relief when Tracie arrived and tugged on the sleeve of her cardigan.</p><p class="western">“Clem…” She had a little frown, and not the excited grin Clemence would have expected her to bear. She thanked the woman for her – quite useless – advice and bid her goodbye.</p><p class="western">“What’s wrong?” She asked as soon as they were far enough.</p><p class="western">“They said your name on the TVs.”</p><p class="western">Tracie was pulling on the cart to guide them to the electronics department, the frown not leaving her face.</p><p class="western">“Trace,” Clemence said softly, “I’ve been on TV before.” The employees of the store had probably picked the sports channel that was now rebroadcasting one of the figure skating competitions she took part in. It happened sometimes, even if she tried her best not to have to see any of them. She did not like to have reminders of that life, and especially not reminders of her ex-partner and ex-boyfriend Rupert, who was now accumulating national and international titles with his new partner and ex-mistress Herta.</p><p class="western">Tracie shook her head. “You don’t understand.”</p><p class="western">Clemence rose an eyebrow. “You’re not explaining.”</p><p class="western">Tracie did not answer. Clemence started worrying; this was not a normal behavior for her sister, who was normally blunt and went straight to the point.</p><p class="western">When they arrived, Clemence was surprised to see that many people congregated in front of the TVs. There were too many of them for her to be able to see the screens, but the sound still worked perfectly.</p><p class="western">“From Sumner, Lady Ava Jones!”</p><p class="western"><em> Oh, so that’s where she was hiding during all this time? </em> Clemence had wondered where the pop star had gone, even if she understood the need for privacy and quiet life.</p><p class="western">“I don’t know what you wanted me too see, Trace, but I think it’s another channel now. Probably MTV or something.”</p><p class="western">Her nine-year-old sister gave her an astounded look that was a little too similar to their mother’s. “You’re really stupid when you want to be.” <em> That </em> also sounded a little too much like their mother. Tracie grabbed her arm, ignoring her surprised gasp, and led her through the crowd, ordering them to budge over and let them pass. Clemence apologized on her sister’s behalf as much as she could, but she quickly grew confused at the stares she was getting, first full of annoyance, then turning into awe, as if they were just making the connection between the skater they had seen on TV and the young woman in front of them.</p><p class="western">And then she was facing an XXL version of a despaired Prince Arin. She jumped back by reflex. This was too much square jawline and slicked-back hair at once, too close to her face.</p><p class="western">“From Whites,” he was saying with a weary voice, “Lady Sara Nguyen.” The picture of a pretty Asian girl appeared next to his face.</p><p class="western">Clemence finally started connecting the dots she had willingly been ignoring until now.</p><p class="western">
  <em> Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. </em>
</p><p class="western">Tracie looked up at her, the betrayal perceptible both in her voice and on her face. “Do you get it now? You’re the Selected for Calgary.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>End of the first part! Or the real end, depends on whether I can produce new content by the deadline<br/>If you've read until here, congrats, you're a clown just like Clemence</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Clemence would remember the week after the announcement as some of the strangest of her life. It reminded her of these days that came after winning a competition, when she was tossed from an interview to the other, signing contracts with sponsors and accepting congratulations and favors from people she had never met before. These moments when she would not be left alone to her thoughts even for an instant and had to always keep a smile on and pretend the joy she had felt on the podium was still present, even if all she wanted to do was cry herself to sleep.</p><p class="western">Being selected was a fairly similar experience, except that she was now discovering that it was much harder to fake feeling happiness for something you never wanted to happen in the first place. Even at the end of the day, when assistants and officials were out of her home, she could not indulge in her own emotions.</p><p class="western">“So, happy to be rid of your cast?” She said on that Tuesday evening, at dinner, trying to sound cheerful. She was feeding Lila while Alex and Tracie were eating lasagna. She had stupidly hoped that meals her sister liked would help her cause, but the glare she got told her that her umpteenth attempt at discussion, however trivial, had failed.</p><p class="western">Alex’s grey eyes went from one to the other, and he volunteered to reply, mouth full. “She complained about the unicorns and the doctor found it very funny. She was so vexed she refused the lollipop.”</p><p class="western">“Typical Trace,” she answered with a tense smile.</p><p class="western">Tracie got up and picked up her hardly touched plate. “I’m gonna eat in the garage.”</p><p class="western">Their garage had been turned into a workshop, where Tracie liked to tinker with electronics of all kinds.</p><p class="western">“You’re not allowed to eat in the garage.”</p><p class="western">“And you’re gone in three days. I don’t care what you say.”</p><p class="western">“Tra—”</p><p class="western">But she had already left the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. Clemence was not sure she would have followed her, even without Lila in her arms.</p><p class="western">Alex kept on eating, not looking particularly disturbed by the ongoing drama. If anything, Clemence suspected him to find it entertaining.</p><p class="western">“You should stop beating around the bush and just talk to her.”</p><p class="western">“And you should not speak with your mouth full.” Yet she nodded at him, acknowledging the piece of advice. She knew she should do it, but she had no idea what to say. How did you explain to your nine-year-old sister that you broke your word because of a crazy chain of events that included alcohol, a misunderstanding, and a dishonest mother? Clemence herself had not wrapped her head around it. She did not know what she had done in this life or a previous one to be hit by karma this way. Or maybe it was a punishment from up there for insulting the heir of the throne. Divine rights were really a thing, then.</p><p class="western">She looked down at the baby in her arms. Another person she had betrayed. The foster care services were apparently rushing to find her a suitable family because of Clemence’s departure on Friday.</p><p class="western">She had fucked up so hard even she could not believe it.</p><p class="western">When she had asked her mother what had happened, the latter had claimed that only the ‘sensitive’ information in her application had been removed and a picture added, but that they had done nothing more to make sure she would be selected.</p><p class="western">“We didn’t want it to backfire at us and be accused of corruption,” Cassandra had told her.</p><p class="western">Clemence had not been surprised to learn that her mother had lied and done the opposite of what she had promised. It had been a risk she had taken into consideration before calling her in the first place, and now she was facing the consequences for still trusting her. However, she had trouble understanding how one could make so many efforts to make her application look seamless and still let fate decide. Her mother was too manipulative and opportunistic for that.</p><p class="western">Alex distracted her from her thoughts when he asked for more lasagna.</p><p class="western">“You can finish it. Victor will come back late.”</p><p class="western">“Didn’t know Marines worked that hard. He’s probably doing a competition of push-ups in the mud or something, right?”</p><p class="western">Clemence rolled her eyes. Victor felt so guilty that he had started avoiding her again, but Alex’s barb made her smile a little despite herself.</p><p class="western">“You really can’t help it.”</p><p class="western">Alex shrugged. “Military thing. Gotta make fun of the different branches.”</p><p class="western">“Hmm.”</p><p class="western">Clemence left him alone to put Lila to bed. At best, she would have three hours of peace until the next meal. She did not mind. She already spent her nights having existential crises instead of sleeping.</p><p class="western">Alex found her half an hour later in the laundry room, folding Tracie’s clothes.</p><p class="western">“Thought I’d told you to speak to her.”</p><p class="western">She jumped in surprise, leaning against the washing machine for leverage, a hand on her chest. “What is wrong with you? Don’t you know about knocking?”</p><p class="western">“Talk to her.”</p><p class="western">Clemence’s eyes narrowed. The biggest difference between Alex and Victor was that Alex was a real busybody, whereas Victor valued his privacy as much as others’. It made her cruelly miss her stepfather. She wondered if she would have to use Chuckesmee to get him to talk to her again before she left.</p><p class="western">“I have the laundry to take care of.” She turned around and resumed her folding. She could still feel Alex behind her. She imagined him leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. He would not let her leave unless she went to see Tracie. Her shoulders sagged, giving up. “I don’t know what to tell her. I’m abandoning her, she has every right to be mad.”</p><p class="western">“You’re not abandoning her.”<em> Yes, I am</em>. “You can have a life outside of this child, Clem. A normal twenty-two-year-old would. You’re not her guardian. She has her father, here, with her. She’s fine. She can do without you for a while.”</p><p class="western">“Maybe she can. But I still betrayed her. She won’t get over that.”</p><p class="western">She knew mistakes were unavoidable in life, but she had always tried to make sure hers did not impact her sister directly. This one was a big fail.</p><p class="western">“She’s eight. Of course she will.”</p><p class="western">“She turned nine two months ago.”</p><p class="western">“Besides the point.” He did not seem to mind that he had forgotten his only niece’s birthday. He stepped closer to her, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum. She stubbornly faced the wall, looking down at a stain of grease she had not managed to wipe out of a shirt. “If you don’t want to tell her the real version, you can still say you owed your fifteen-year-old self to have a date with him. Or that you wanted to find love or something.”</p><p class="western">Wouldn’t the two of them leave her alone with that stupid crush? She was fifteen, by definition she had bad taste.</p><p class="western">“To find love? Seriously?” She turned to look at him, incredulous. Admittedly, she sometimes missed to have someone to hug her and a shoulder to rely on, but she enjoyed being single, and she did not feel the need to have a partner. She had much less problems on her own, and that fact alone made celibacy absolutely great. And anyway, even if she was looking for love, she would not want <em>Arin Schreave</em> to hold the role of the comforting boyfriend. They lived in two different worlds. What would he understand of the struggles of raising a child? He was ruling a country, it would seem insignificant in comparison – and it was.</p><p class="western">“I’m trying to help.”</p><p class="western">“I know, Alex, but you can’t. This is a mess I can’t get out of.”</p><p class="western">“I’m sure you can ask him to send you home by Saturday anyway. He’s a gentleman, he wouldn’t say no to a lady.”</p><p class="western">Clemence laughed, imagining the scene. <em>‘Hi, I accidentally ended here, can I go home? Sorry if you can’t meet your soulmate because I was picked instead. Have a scarf as an apology gift.’ </em>She did not have that much dignity left, but still enough not to want to be remembered as the first girl who was eliminated. She was hoping that he would realize after a week or two that they were not compatible and end things there.</p><p class="western">She already knew that this plan was pure utopia, and that life had decided she simply would not get away with the Selection, but her optimistic side needed to think of an easy resolution. She would spend her days crying in her bed otherwise.</p><p class="western">“Anyway, go talk to Tracie. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”</p><p class="western">She chewed on her lip, staring at him. Even though he was a younger copy of his brother, his face never displayed the same emotions.</p><p class="western">“Fine. But my laundry better be folded when I’m back.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, Your Highness.”</p><hr/><p class="western">Tracie ignored her when she stepped into the garage, holding a plate full of cupcakes she had prepared in the afternoon. Clemence set the plate on the table where her sister was working – rebuilding a computer apparently, though she was not sure. Tracie narrowed her eyes at the peace offering, before going back to ignoring her.</p><p class="western">“I could tell you how I ended in the Selection, but I have a feeling you don’t want to listen to that.” Clemence rubbed her hands against one another. How could talking to a child be so intimidating? She sat on the edge of the table, uncertain on how to proceed. “But believe me when I tell you that this was the last thing I wanted. I’m not doing it willingly.”</p><p class="western">Silence. Tracie kept working on some chips. Then, a quiet whisper. “Why don’t you just drop out, then?”</p><p class="western">Clemence refrained a sigh of relief. Three words was adamant progress.</p><p class="western">“I wish. But I can’t.”</p><p class="western">Tracie leaned back on her chair, deep in thought. “Tell them you’re pregnant.”</p><p class="western">“Do you have any idea of how much trouble I would get into?” She had signed a few hours earlier a document in which she swore she was still a virgin. She tried not to shudder at the thought of that terribly uncomfortable conversation.</p><p class="western">“Yeah, but you wouldn’t go there.”</p><p class="western">“Yeah, because I’d be in prison.”</p><p class="western">Tracie hold a hand out and Clemence silently gave her a cupcake. Her sister frowned as she thought of a plan while eating. “In that case…” She started, mouth still full. “You go there, you meet him, you insult him, and boom, you’re home by the evening.”</p><p class="western">Clemence rose an eyebrow at the strange similarity of Alex and Tracie’s plans. Beauchamps tended to go for the most straightforward and efficient, and this was another one of these moments.</p><p class="western">“I’ve insulted him enough already. I’d like to avoid doing that in front of him.”</p><p class="western">“Even if it gets you back home?” Tracie’s frown deepened, and she put her unfinished cupcake back onto the plate. “You said you didn’t want to be in the Selection,” she added coldly.</p><p class="western">“I don’t.”</p><p class="western">“You sound like you do.” Tracie went back to her chips, closing the door she had partially opened.</p><p class="western">Clemence looked at the wall of “safe” tools, gathering her thoughts. She crossed her arms and tried to stand her ground. “I don’t want to go, but things can’t work out that easily, Trace. I have to own up to my mistakes. And this isn’t some random reality TV show, it’s going to impact our country forever. I can’t go there and act irresponsibly.”</p><p class="western">She could see that Tracie wanted to keep her mouth shut, but that was among of her skills. “What if he picks you? You’re gonna say yes? Because it’s ‘responsible’?”</p><p class="western">Clemence would have answered that things would never go that far, but last time she had said something would not happen, it did, so…</p><p class="western">“I would say no,” she said carefully, sending a prayer that she would never have to break that promise. “Because…” <em>He’d never propose to me in the first place.</em> “Because I’d pick you over him.”</p><p class="western">Tracie stared at her, suspicious. “Really?”</p><p class="western">Clemence took a risk and brushed an unruly lock out of her face, caressing her cheek with her thumb, smiling sadly. “I’ve always picked you before. Why would that change?”</p><p class="western">“Mama said that one day you’ll marry and have your own family and won’t care anymore about me.” Tracie shrugged, as if she did not care, but Clemence heard the hurt in her voice.</p><p class="western"><em>Of course </em> <em>mama woul</em> <em>d say that</em>. Her mother was so predictable that this kind of words no longer affected her.</p><p class="western">“When did she tell you that?” From what she knew, they talked even less than Clemence and Cassandra did.</p><p class="western">“When I called her to ask if she could pull you out of the Selection.”</p><p class="western">Clemence laughed a little hysterically. Her sister was taking after her more than she was willing to admit. “And what did she answer? That she couldn’t do anything?”</p><p class="western">Tracie pouted and frowned, remembering the conversation. “She said I should be happy that you could become a princess. She said it will be like a Disney movie.” She grimaced at the mention of Disney. If Cassandra spent more time with her youngest daughter, she would know that it was never an argument to use to convince Tracie to do something or think a certain way.</p><p class="western">“Ignore her and her bullshit. That’s just what she wants to happen. Actually,” Clemence started, wanting to lighten the mood, “if you don’t want her to set you up with some royalty later on, you should really let me marry Arin Schreave.”</p><p class="western">Tracie wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, never.”</p><p class="western">Clemence laughed softly and kissed her forehead before she stood up. She was not able to determine if things were now settled between her and Tracie, but she did not see what else she could do, except leaving her to her thoughts. She left the plate of cupcakes, knowing that with that sugar, she was letting her sister stay up until late in the night. When she reached the door, she called her softly. Tracie raised her head; and perhaps it was the lack of proper lighting in the room, but Clemence thought that she looked older and more somber than a child her age should.</p><p class="western">“You’ll always be my top priority. You can shove any kind of prince my way, he won’t be worth it if I can’t be with you, too.”</p><p class="western">Tracie nodded slowly, staring at her right in the eye, and returned to her work.</p><hr/><p class="western">The next day, Tracie popped inside her room while Clemence was packing for the palace. Her suitcase was mostly full of yarn and knitted garments, along with her collection of ridiculous pajamas. She longed to pick the rest of her comfortable, casual clothes, but she had already be warned that she would be provided dresses by the palace. As long they were long enough to cover her surgery scars, Clemence did not really mind having to dress up a little, even though she could not shake the feeling that she was treated like a doll. The makeover, the outfits… so far, everything seemed rooted in appearance. Was this a Selection or a beauty pageant? Was that what the prince was looking for? A pretty girl to play the part of the cute princess? If she was drunk, she would probably go on an another rant.</p><p class="western">Tracie put a toy on top of her suitcase, next to her Baby Yoda and Paddington plushies, and it took Clemence a few seconds to recognize Chuckesmee. She blinked, wondering if the sight of the atrocious doll among her precious yarn was real or not.</p><p class="western">“You’re giving me Chuckesmee?”</p><p class="western">“Lending,” Tracie corrected. Seeing her sister’s confusion, she went on. “Maybe when he sees Chuck, he’ll be so disgusted he’ll want you out with them.”</p><p class="western">“Oh.” It was impossible to say if Tracie had forgiven her for leaving for the Selection, but at least they were officially back to speaking terms. “What if he doesn’t care about Chuckesmee? Or even <em>likes</em> them?”</p><p class="western">“Then…” Tracie frowned; she clearly had not considered that option. “Then, he won’t suck that much.” She shrugged.</p><p class="western">“If Victor heard you talk about our future king that way…” Clemence shook her head with a laugh.</p><p class="western">Tracie wrinkled her nose, doubtful. “You’re patriotic now?”</p><p class="western">“I’m <em>super</em> patriotic.” Questioning certain choices made by the royal family did not make Clemence unpatriotic. They had freedom of expression for a reason, right? “Remember how I waved that flag at the Olympics?”</p><p class="western">Clemence had been chosen to be the Illéan flag bearer at the 2087 Winter Olympics opening ceremony. Having the privilege to lead her team to the Games remained one of the highlights of her career. Rupert had been so jealous not to have been picked that they had had a fight about it, which made that moment even better in Clemence’s mind when she recalled it. She was glad she had had that opportunity before everything ended.</p><p class="western">“Yeah, you talk about it all the time.” Tracie rolled her eyes.</p><p class="western">“I don’t!” She actually rarely mentioned her skating career, as if that she had never lived that life. Sometimes, when she looked at her wrinkled clothes stained in food or God knew what, it felt like she had been transported to a parallel universe in which it had never happened. The Selection felt like being transported to yet another one. Or maybe she had simply lived so many different lives, in so many different places, and the Selection was just the newest addition to the circus called her existence.</p><p class="western"><em>As long as I don’t have to </em> <em>juggle between</em> <em> Tracie, school, skating, dating and being the well-raised stepdaughter of an ambassador all at the same time, it can’t be that bad.</em></p><p class="western">She hushed Tracie out of her room, throwing a glance at the infamous Chuckesmee. Maybe that thing could be useful.</p><hr/><p class="western">
  <b> Romy Stiefvater: try not to end second at that competition lmao </b>
</p><p class="western"><b>Franz Nassau: </b> <b>I</b> <b>f she ends second, it’ll be only because she turned him down</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Clemence Westley: …</b>
</p><p class="western"><b>Cathrin Bödigheimer: </b> <b>You just wish that for your own ego, Franz</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: Women can treat heirs like shit too. Doesn’t have to be only random unimportant princes</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: glad to see you are aware of your own worth</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: Aren’t you supposed to be training?</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: dude it’s 7am im still in bed</b>
</p><p class="western"><b>Franz Nassau: You have a really bad routine. It’s a </b> <b>wonder</b> <b> you became world champion</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: Never mind, the miracle is Clem not being competition anymore</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: shes never been competition ;p</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: everyone KNOWS she switched to pair skating bc i was too strong for her</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: You both got silver at the last Olympics</b>
</p><p class="western"><b>Franz Nassau: And a figure </b> <b>bears</b> <b> her name now</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: She’s marked figure skating history more than you and she retired at 19</b>
</p><p class="western"><b>R</b> <b>omy Stiefvater: wow i was joking man no need to take it so seriously</b></p><p class="western"><b>Romy Stiefvater: </b> <b>s</b><b>ome days </b> <b>i</b> <b> wonder if you’re really over her</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: I’m defending her achievements, like any friend would</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: is the selection an achievement of hers too?</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: I’m proud of her whatever she does.</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: will you be proud if she marries arin schreave?</b>
</p><p class="western"><b>F</b> <b>ranz Nassau: If she loves him and he makes her happy, I don’t see the issue in her marrying him</b></p><p class="western"><b>Romy Stiefvater: </b> <b>y</b><b>ou made fun of her running away from a proposal five minutes ago, </b> <b>im not sure you want to see her wedding actually happen anytime soon</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Franz Nassau: *read at 11:23pm*</b>
</p><p class="western">
  <b>Romy Stiefvater: come back here you fucking coward</b>
</p><p class="western"><b>Alban</b> <b> von Waxenstein: </b> <b>GO GET THE PRINCE CLEM WOOOOOOO</b></p><p class="western"><b>Romy Stiefvater: u up ealy </b> <b>alban</b> <b> thats weird</b></p><p class="western"><b>Alban</b> <b> von Waxenstein: Wanted to wish her good luck before she leaves</b></p><p class="western"><b>Romy Stiefvater: you still had time to sleep and do that. </b> <b>its not friday yet in illea she wont be leaving before several hours from now</b></p><p class="western"><b>Alban</b> <b> von Waxenstein: Oh fuck</b></p><p class="western"><b>Romy Stiefvater: im sure she saw your message tho. cathrin and she are spying on the convo and commenting </b> <b>to each other </b> <b>like usual</b></p><p class="western">
  <b>Cathrin Bödigheimer: You know I can’t resist when there’s tea ;)</b>
</p><p class="western">Clemence locked her phone and placed it on her pillow, a few inches away from her. She should have expected Romy to call them out at some point. She always did.</p><p class="western">“Do you thing she’s right? That he’s still not over me?” This was a possibility she did not like thinking about. He was supposed to be happy with Peter now, not to be still longing after the same girl years later.</p><p class="western">“I think…” Cathrin started carefully, “that you still have a special place in his heart. Not necessarily a romantic one, but he still cares deeply. And you know he’s always idealized you.”</p><p class="western">Yeah, but your ex was not supposed to keep putting you on a pedestal after you broke their heart. She had first liked being treated like a queen, after Rupert it was exactly what she thought she needed, but she had quickly come to the realization that being seen as the embodiment of perfection was more of a burden than a privilege.</p><p class="western">“He shouldn’t.”</p><p class="western">“No, he shouldn’t, but he’s an idiot.”</p><p class="western">At least everyone agreed on that.</p><p class="western">“How are you feeling?” Cathrin asked after a short silence, her accent sounding more prominent through the speakers of the phone.</p><p class="western">Clemence took a deep breath and rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling of her room. The beige strangely reflected her mood in a way she could not explain. The last weeks had wrung every nice color out of her to make her mood become as dull and bland as the ceiling.</p><p class="western">Aware of her internal melodramatics, she settled for, “Like I’ve been in a washing machine for three weeks and now they expect to be able to walk straight when I just feel about to throw up,” which was almost as melodramatic.</p><p class="western">Cathrin hummed in answer. “I guess this isn’t that far from the truth. You did throw up already, though.”</p><p class="western">“Oh, shut up.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I… I’m afraid I won’t come back the same. Everything’s already changing around me. I’m not ready for that.”</p><p class="western">Calgary was the closest to peaceful she had ever known. But she had kicked in the anthill and now everything was crashing down. There was no coming back, even if she was willing to throw Arin Schreave to the fire to fix it all.</p><p class="western">Would she ever prepare Tracie’s meal before school again? Take her to hockey practice? Watch bad series with Victor? Even if she was home by next week, it already seemed impossible to settle into this old routine ever again.</p><p class="western">“Nobody’s ever ready for change. And maybe that’s what you need.”</p><p class="western">Clemence sighed, already knowing where this conversation was heading. “You forgot because you’ve been in a relationship for a while, but being single is great. I don’t need a man.”</p><p class="western">“Of course you don’t. But having someone isn’t entirely bad either.”</p><p class="western">“I have Victor. Great parental support. We manage greatly together. He started talking to me again, by the way.” And she had not even needed Chuckesmee’s help.</p><p class="western">“You know I’m not talking about that kind of someone.”</p><p class="western">“So what? You think Arin Schreave should be the one?”</p><p class="western">“You’re both dumbasses. You’d be a good match.”</p><p class="western"><em> Ugh</em>. <em> No</em>.</p><p class="western">“Funny, you weren’t saying that when you let my drunk ass fill the application.”</p><p class="western">“You wouldn’t have let me. You were so <em>mad</em>.” Cathrin giggled. “Last time you threw that many insults at a man, you had just broken up with Rupert. And I don’t think Arin Schreave deserves to be compared to him.”</p><p class="western">“You don’t know. Maybe that’s what he did.” Clemence hoped for him she would never learn about this if it was the case, because she would wreck havoc in the palace. They would likely need to make Princess Safiya the new heir.</p><p class="western">“I don’t think he’d do a Selection if he had cheated.”</p><p class="western">Clemence rolled her eyes, granting Cathrin that argument. “Fine. But he still had a bad idea.”</p><p class="western">“Maybe he was like you and thought of it when he was drunk. You’re really collecting common points, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”</p><p class="western">“I hate you.”</p><p class="western">“Good thing you’ll find new girls to replace me with, then,” Cathrin replied perkily. “Still want to save them?”</p><p class="western">“Can I be selfish and save myself first?” Screw the savior’s complex, Clemence was from now on a narcissist.</p><p class="western">Cathrin did not answer immediately. Perhaps she had finally ran out of arguments, to Clemence’s delight. Then, she said softly. “You have nothing to lose by doing this thing, Clem.”</p><p class="western">“My dignity.” She fired back.</p><p class="western">“You never had one.” <em>Touché</em>.</p><p class="western">“Okay. <em>Tracie</em>.”</p><p class="western">It took Cathrin almost an entire minute to come up with a good counter argument, which surprised Clemence. Her friend was usually ten steps ahead of everything.</p><p class="western">“Wherever you end up, I’m sure Victor wouldn’t mind being transferred to another base so you don’t live apart.”</p><p class="western">“But why would I have to disrupt their lives so <em>I </em>can be happy?”</p><p class="western">Cathrin sighed. “You’re hopeless. They’d be very happy to stay with you and you know it.”</p><p class="western">Clemence did not answer, but in her mind, the point stood.</p><p class="western">She noticed a shadow out of the corner of her eye. Tracie was standing on the threshold of her room, rubbing her sleepy eyes. That child somehow always knew when she was the subject of the conversation.</p><p class="western">Clemence pulled back the sheets, silently inviting her to slip in her bed for the night. “Why aren’t you sleeping, lil’ gremlin?” she said once Tracie was nestled against her.</p><p class="western">“Oh hi, Trace.” Cathrin chimed in.</p><p class="western">Tracie yawned. “Hi, Cath.”</p><p class="western">She bent her arms to squeeze them between she and Clemence, letting her head rest against her sister’s chest. Clemence smiled melancholically and began to stroke her tangled hair, remembering how Tracie would just fall asleep in the same position when she was a baby.</p><p class="western">“I’ll text you later,” Cathrin said quietly.</p><p class="western">Translation: this conversation was not over.</p><p class="western">Clemence hung up, quickly checking on the group chat. Romy and Franz were on the verge of fighting now. She locked the phone again and put it on her nightstand, trying not to disturb Tracie. She would worry about her troubled friendships and Arin Schreave tomorrow. For now, she had her sister in her arms, probably for the last time in a while, and she intended to enjoy it as much as she could. She wrapped her arms around Tracie’s small frame and kissed her forehead, silently letting her tears fall on her pillow.</p><p class="western">
  <em> I’m sorry, gremlin. </em>
</p>
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